


Yin & Yang

by CraneCreator



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CraneCreator/pseuds/CraneCreator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurence and Tharkay are captured and spirited away to Paris, while Temeraire must maintain the fragile lines between the Russian and Chinese forces. Now the two must escape by any offered road and the journey shall change Laurence forever. Note: Starts where Book 8 left off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Laurence gazed up at the towering form of Lung Tien Lien. The sun setting behind him, casting a bright orange glow on the diamond set in her diadem.

He had been standing there a good ten minutes as she had she had sat there, staring at him. Laurence’s arms began to ache from the manacles, the chains jangling every time he shifted, trying to keep his weight off his battered left leg.

Still Lien said nothing.

Laurence swallowed past the collar binding him at the neck, feeling half strangled every time he did so. He suspected his chains had come from a former slaver, left over from when the trade had still been active in Luxemburg.

He glanced to the side, briefly eyeing one of the Papillon Noir on either side of him, the ones who had brought him before Lien. To Laurence the draconic guards seemed a trifle ridiculous; doubly so, because Temeraire had not been captured with him.

Tharkay and he had been on another scouting mission, posing once more as peasants eager to sell their wares to the French, who had set up in Vyazma, a Russian city between Moscow and Smolensk.

A place their Russian allies had not thought to find them. The Russians had been expecting the Grande Armee upon their doorstep as soon as the news had come of Napolean amassing his forces and marching towards them. But almost as soon as word had arrived, so had the storm, the first squalling snow storm of winter. Communication and information had fell into complete disarray, so that when it had cleared five days later and there was no French army to be seen, the Russians assumed them to be still quartered in Moscow, having thought better of marching in such conditions.

But Laurence had thought otherwise. Napoleon was no fool and in the face of that storm would have had to reassess all his dwindling supply. Unable to have the quick, decisive battle he so longed for Napoleon’s best hope would have been to instead turn his army back towards Smolensk, using the storm as cover and leaving behind the same scorched earth the Russians had left to him; all the while collecting the supplies and depots his army had left behind on their initial march to Moscow, preventing a quick pursuit by the Russians in the face of the barren lands they themselves had created.

Such arguments had not been given much weight by the Russian command, who seemed to think the significance of Moscow would outweigh such trite concerns as food. It had therefore fallen upon himself and Tharkay to scout out the report of Napoleon in Vyazma.

And it was there that there luck had turned.

Sauvignon had been there; the little spy that had been the first French dragon taken with the plague. She had recognized Laurence immediately, even under his dirt disguise, having spent so many days in his close company, and the alarm had blared all around them.

Even then it had not seemed hopeless. There was such initial confusion and they had been only on the outskirts of the encampment that they were able to lose the initial guards set upon them. They had even managed a few blocks when they had been knocked to the ground by a strike from above. Before either of them had regained their feet a large weight pinned them to the ground, the dragons carefully but effectively keeping them in place until more guards caught them up and relieved them of their weapons.

It was then the work of a minute to have each of them trussed up and on board the dragons, winging back to the center of the encampment and almost immediately sent on to Paris, Bonaparte himself giving Sauvignon and the other dragon their orders. And in less than a week they were touching down on the edge of the Tuilleries Gardens, in the very same spot he and Temeraire had been received five years ago.

Laurence had been a bit surprised by this. He had expected to be sent to some dark prison, left to rot until Lien decided it was time for them, or more specifically him, to die. He certainly hadn’t expected so direct a course to Lien, but perhaps she was impatient to have the business over with.

Both he and Tharkay had been put into the slaver’s chains the night before, a bit of show put on by the guards at their previous stop.  It made walking awkward and Tharkay had moved towards him when Laurence had stumbled after being set down, his leg nearly giving out where it had been struck.

Sauvignon had stepped between them, stopping Tharkay coming nearer, while at the same time bending low her head so that Laurence could brace against it and stand once more.

Tharkay and he had been separated then; four middleweights coming for them; two leading Tharkay away towards the palace and the others joining the two couriers to escort him to the Lien’s Pavilion, where the dragon herself waited.  

“Stand straight.” Lien said suddenly, causing Laurence to briefly snap to attention, a lifetime of training overruling him, before his protesting leg made him shift his weight again. Lien glaring at him as he did so.

“I will stand however I am able.” Laurence replied stiffly, a slight tremor starting in the traitorous limb. “And if you do not like it, you may go to the devil.”

Lien’s ruby eyes narrowed, the guards shifting beside him, while Sauvignon looked startled from where she sat at attention next to the pavilion.

“I see where Lung Tien Xang has learned his barbaric manners.” She turned towards Sauvignon. “What has happened to his leg?”

Sauvignon ducked her head a bit, and said apologetically. “When we were disembarking at Luxemburg one of the Captains struck him before I could tell them our orders.”

Lien made a noise of displeasure, “You should not have needed to. My orders regarding him were plain; captured alive and brought to me unharmed. These are simple enough orders are they not?” She asked, her tail twitching in irritation. Sauvignon nodded though Lien hardly seemed to be expecting a reply. “Which Captain disobeyed my instructions?”

“Captain Descartes,” Sauvignon replied immediately, apparently happy enough to give him up. Lien gave instructions to one of the runners stationed near her pavilion and the boy gave a quick bow and set off towards the palace.

Laurence, however, could scarcely credit what he was hearing. He supposed that Lien was merely angry that she had not been strictly obeyed, but if ever an officer were to overlook a piece of insubordination surely this would be the time.

He honestly hadn't known what to expect upon his capture. Several possibilities had immediately sprung to mind, not least of which would have been to use him to force Temeraire's surrender, effectively severing the binding tie between the Chinese Legions and the Russians. But when he'd immediately been shipped off to Paris, to Lien, he’d thought this less likely. He wondered now if Lien wanted to barter his life directly for Temeraire’s.

There was, of course, the very real possibility that Lien simply wanted to kill him herself. Not for any direct motive of revenge against him, but because it would hurt Temeraire. It had been made plain enough in their interactions that she considered him little more than a knat; to be swatted any time it should prove convenient.

Lien turned back to him, eyeing him coldly once more, the silence between them stretching with tension. Finally she said, her voice low, “Why did you do it?”

Laurence stared at her, uncomprehending. She couldn’t mean the cure, surely? That had been five years ago. But he could not imagine to what else she was referring. So he said, “The cure, you mean?”

She nodded.

Laurence noticed that the two courier dragons were staring fixedly at him now and he could almost feel the intensity of his guard’s attention; their bodies having gone rigid next to him. But he kept his own focus on Lien. “I already told you when we first brought the cure here. Sauvignon should never have been sent back ill, threatening all the dragons regardless of their own allegiances or guilt in this war. I would not see it done with a person and so would not have it done with a dragon.”

All the dragons continued to stare at him as if waiting for more, but he did not think any more needed to be said. Lien tail twitched around her foreclaws, “Then if you thought you were acting correctly, why did you not stay here? Why did you not take Napolean up on his offer?”

“To bring the cure here; that was a duty I was honor bound to do. In the same vein I was honor bound to return and face whatever punishment deemed fit for my having broken the law.”

“And now?” She asked, a calculating gleam shimmering in her eyes. “Would you now accept Napolean’s offer? Now that your country has set you adrift, flung to the Earth’s farthest corners, bereft of all that you once possessed.” There was a pleased note about her expression as she said this last.

“No,” Laurence said flatly and with finality, though he suppressed a shudder at her words. He could well remember their meeting in the Sultan’s palace, her promising to do precisely that in order to serve them her revenge. And it was not until she had stated it so plainly that he realized her stated goals had been, for a time, almost wholly achieved.

She nodded as if she had been expecting nothing else then asked, “And what happened to your fortune?” And this time the note of pleasure in her voice was unmistakable.

Laurence stiffened, “I believe that you are well aware of what happened to it.” He said flatly, not willing to indulge any of her gloating. “It was printed quite plainly in all the papers.”

“But do those papers tell the truth. Did you steal several hundred slaves only to lose them?”

Laurence frowned. He could not understand this line of questioning at all. It seemed to him to serve no purpose. Napolean himself had reinstated slavery in his colonies, so it could hardly be out of sympathy. But at the very least this line of questioning was safer than any he had imagined he would have been subjected to. He could at least answer them with a free conscience and perhaps keep the conversation from steering into more dangerous territory; a course, which would require him to refuse to answer and would undoubtedly lead to his torture, if not execution.

He told them of their discovery of the destroyed harbors; of their venturing on land for supplies and finding the slave traders there with their captives, and finally of freeing and feeding the slaves while taking the slave traders back to the ship.

Lien looked thoroughly displeased at his story. No doubt she had been hoping for something far more ignominious, perhaps him trying to physically kidnap the slaves and managing to lose the whole lot of them.  

But the resumed silence was broken with the return of the runner, accompanied by a young man. Sauvignon immediately perked up at the approach of the second and with a start Laurence recognized Sauvignon’s Captain, Peter; no longer the boy that Laurence recalled but a young man. Both promptly made their bows to Lien, the runner returning to his station, while the second requested permission to address Laurence.

Lien nodded and Peter turned towards Laurence, his face inscrutable. Laurence widened his stance slightly as the young man took several sure strides towards him, hands raised. But instead of the blow Laurence had been expecting the man seized him by his shoulders and planted a firm kiss on each cheek, then took Laurence’s arm and shook it vigorously, the chains rattling with the motion.

Laurence was quite taken aback by this effusive greeting, reminding him abruptly of when he’d last stood here, Bonaparte delivering much the same sort of welcome to him. It took him a moment to realize that the young man was speaking, thanking him profusely for bringing over the cure, for saving them all, from the wretched fate he had seen in quarantine covets, and from the losses they would have sure to have suffered. By the time he finished his heartfelt thanks there were tears streaming down his face, as if thanking Laurence had opened a great dam, he looking more the boy Laurence had first seen at the Dover Covert.

From the corner of his eye Laurence caught a brief glimpse of Sauvignon, the dragon looking both pleased and concerned and finally Laurence thought he understood.

For the whole flight back Laurence had found their treatment a peculiar. Both dragons had been nearly deferential to him and Tharkay; for all that they had also been their wardens. Having tents and pallets brought to them at each stop and staying with them, ensuring their protection while other guards insured against their escape. The authority granted to the two by his capture and Napoleon’s personal seal guaranteeing compliance.

It had extended to other dragons as well, many wishing to speak with him before being shooed away by guards. And the dragon guards themselves staring at them, some even asking after their comfort.

Bewilderedly, Laurence slowly realized, that here, in the heart of France, he had acquired a sort of folk hero status.

And it made Laurence very nervous.

Lien and most especially Napoleon could not like that. More particularly since he had refused any of the latter’s honors. If Laurence had accepted any reward, Napoleon could have easily shown him off in the light of a converted servant. One who had seen the wisdom of Bonaparte’s ways and been brought over to the right side. But as things stood Laurence could only be seen as a threat to the devotion that he had seen both Lien and Bonaparte cultivate in their followers.

It would make sense then that they would not simply kill him. That would only make him all the more the heroic martyr in the public’s eye. No, Lien was far too clever for that. But what exactly she planned to do instead Laurence could not fathom. He supposed she meant to bring out all his faults and flinchingly he thought of those two months when he’d lost himself to despair. When he had gone after those French soldiers without mercy and conducted a bloody campaign across the British country side.

But for today she seemed to be done with him. Lien instructed Peter and Sauvignon to escort him to the forge to have the chains removed and replaced with simple manacles, then lead him to where he was to be held. Apparently the guards had not bothered to check whether they’d still had the keys for the chains before binding him and Tharkay with them.

One of the middle weights gently scooped Laurence up in her talons, apparently not willing to wait for Laurence to shuffle his way there, and followed Sauvignon to the palace. Laurence noticed with dismay that there seemed to be dragon guards posted at nearly every entrance of the palace, along with the regular human patrols besides.

When they arrived the blacksmith made fairly quick work of his binding, his manner brusque and uncommunicative, even to Peter, but Laurence was relieved to see an identical set of broken chains beside the anvil and hoped it meant that Tharkay had also been freed from his binding. Two human guards now entered and, clapping him in irons, led him away.

~~~~~

Laurence awoke abruptly the following morning as a guard opened the door to his room, or cell, if it could be called such. It was located in the basement of the palace, cut into the earth itself, with no windows; the only light the dim glow filtering through the small lookout in the door. But there was a small bed, wash basin and he'd been let out previously, under guard of course, to use the necessary. He suspected that this had once been a storage room, perhaps used for food or furniture and had only recently been converted for use as a cell. It was far better accommodations then he had been expecting, thinking back in his initial jail last time he'd been a French prisoner.

The guard, a member of the Armée de l’Air, handed Laurence a shirt and trousers, a second standing in the doorway.

Laurence frowned, "Am I being transferred?" he asked.

"No," the guard said and did not elaborate.

Suspicious but deciding there was nothing else to be done, he quickly shifted his ruined clothes for the clean cloth, washing the worst of the grim from his skin in the wash basin. It was far less clothing than he was used to wearing but it was clean and comfortable. Once done the guards put him in irons and led him out.

This time he was better able to notice his surroundings as he was led around the side of the palace towards the gardens, avoiding the throng of people that milled about the main courtyard. Mostly consisting of people of fashion; there, perhaps to get of glimpse of the Empress, if she were in town.

As they entered the gardens leading to Lien’s pavilion Laurence noticed how much larger it was then when he had first seen it. The central pavilion hadn’t been expanded but now two wings fanned out to either side, seemingly of mixed use for both human and dragon. And beyond Lien’s own pavilion Laurence could see others having been built down the way. They were clearly modeled on pavilion grounds back in China, though Laurence was unable to make out their full extent from here, he presumed they took up most of the area that had been marked off on his previous capture.

He wished now he been more of a mind to pay attention when they’d first flown in. He’d been wholly incapable of taking in the view when he’d been astride Sauvignon. Had they finished the large roadways? Were even more being built? What new construction projects had Bonaparte been engaging in?

Laurence took advantage now of what he could. His situation was still bleak, no matter that he was still breathing for the moment. But he would be a fool not to try and learn as much as he could while he had the chance.

Soon enough he stood once more before Lien, herself poised much as she had been the previous day. The two human guards bowed to her and left, their places taken instead by two courier dragons, while two Papillion Noir’s stood at either end, no doubt a part of her honor guard.

This session proceeded much like the last, Lien questioning him on reports she had received of him, of what had happened in Australia; South America and Japan. She thoroughly dissected each story, seeming to twist it this and that in her head before asking after another particular. Occasionally she would stray into the bounds of tactics or how a particular battle had been won.

Any time this happened Laurence would not reply, refusing to give any more tactics to one who seemed in the way of too many already. He also could not understand why she asked what she did. He could well remember the questioning he had undergone when Bonaparte had met them in South America, he had asked some of these questions himself and Lien had been there. On that occasion he had had to repeatedly catch himself up as Bonaparte skillfully extracted more information from him then he had meant to give.

Whatever she was after, however, his answers did not seem to please her, which Laurence was unsure of how to interpret. He also avoided any mention of the North American dragons, remembering all too well the numbers which seemed to outstrip the available aviators of those nations. The less Lien and Bonaparte knew of that situation the better.

For all the questioning Lien had been as polite and restrained as though he were a guest and not a prisoner; though perhaps her constant inquiries after his motives did stretch the bounds of propriety.

Finally she looked up from him, seeming to spot something in the distance.  Laurence turned slightly, it was just coming on to noon and a courier winged into view from the west. Immediately Laurence saw Sauvignon rise from the grounds of the palace and both touched down at the top of the path. The stranger came forward and bowed to Lien, while Laurence was led back to Sauvignon and put aboard.

Peter was awaiting the both of them in the courtyard that seemed to be assigned to the couriers, Laurence counting a quick half dozen dragons relaxing upon the stones.

“I hope you rested well last evening, Captain Laurence.” He said by way of greeting, steadying Laurence, still in manacles, as he slid of Sauvignon’s back. There were a few tables scattered round and he led Laurence over to one, porridge and fresh rolls already set out.

“Yes, I thank you,” Laurence said, a little confused, seating himself and starting upon his food when Peter beckoned him on, though a little awkwardly, around his chains.

They talked a little, sticking to safe topics, and avoiding any mention of the war, until Laurence could stand it no longer.

“Why am I being treated so?” he asked, his confusion making him blunt.

Peter frowned, “Have you been mistreated, did one of the guards strike you?”

Laurence shook his head, “No I have been treated with the utmost courtesy, beyond even what the normal protocols expected for a prisoner of war. Far better indeed then when last I was here and brought the cure, save perhaps when I was here partially as Napoleon’s guest.”

Peter nodded his understanding, “Well, the last time you were here our dragons were still sick and we had only just begun to believe you not some new harbinger of doom.” He looked down at his plate, as though considering carefully his next words. “And of course we had not yet been to England.”

Laurence puzzled over this comment, not understanding the significance and upon seeing his confusion Sauvignon put in quietly, “We have all seen the barrow mounds at Dover.”

Laurence looked down, remembering again those terrible mounds where the earth had risen up to bury the victims of the Dragon Plague. The oppressive atmosphere of that time seemed to come upon them again and they were silent for a time.

“Emperor Napolean had all the corps fly over and bear witness to the graves,” Peter said, his voice very low. “He wanted us to know what your Admirals had tried to do, to see it for ourselves. I suppose even then we had not fully believed what we had escaped. Stories had gotten round of what I had seen in the British Covets. But it is one thing to hear tell of the dreadful sickness and another to see the bodies. Even I, who had seen your quarantine grounds, could not think I could lose Sauvignon.” His hands clenched on the table and Sauvignon made a keening sound, putting her head low and nuzzling him. It seemed to bring him back to himself. “My apologies Captain Laurence, but I am sure you can understand the anger such a sight caused.”

Laurence simply nodded. He could well remember the black despair that had risen up and threatened to consume him when he had thought he was going to lose Temeraire. He could easily imagine such a feeling being turned to rage when there was an enemy to place blame upon.

“But more to the point we felt keenly what you had done for us.” Laurence looked up surprised. Then remembered again the untouched estates of his family. He had thought it a bit odd; even then, that Napoleon had been able to secure their safety, especially from men grown desperate, no matter how forceful his personality. But if the aerial corps themselves had decided it, he could now more easily understand how they had remained unmolested.

Oddly, he could more easily accept such a gift from the French Captains, then he could when he’d supposed it an order of Napoleon’s. For in it he did not see calculation but genuine gratitude; an expression of the same reprieve he had felt when told Temeraire would be well.  He did not press for further details, nor did he question why his captaining of the raids had not obliterated all the good will he had unknowingly stored up. His safety was precarious enough without poking the sleeping dragon.

The conversation drifted back to safer waters and they passed the remainder of the meal easily enough, before Peter called two more guards over to lead him back to his cell.

~~~~~

Temeraire looked down at the French Courier standing before him, having approached their encampment under a flag of parlance. Temeraire and the Commander, Colonel Zhao Lien, had flown out to meet the messenger. But even as he stared down at the smaller dragon he could not seem to hear his words. There was a ringing in his ears that seemed to block everything out.

Laurence had been captured.

Of course he had known that could have happened. Laurence and Tharkay had been missing five days. But he had continued to send out patrols, scouts, hoping to find them making their way back, or perhaps having been waylaid by a chase, or detoured in order to avoid the French.

The courier dragon was speaking again, "...given that Captain Laurence in now in our custody. We demand that the dragon Temeraire surrender to us immediately and agree to..."

"Tien Xiang," Colonel Zhao Lien interrupted, bringing Temeraire back to the present. "We must discuss our strategy before you are to make any decisions." Roland, who was standing between them, must have been translating for Commander.

"Strategy? I don't care about strategy, I care about getting Laurence back." He turned on the courier, "Where is Laurence? How do I know that what you are saying is even the truth? I demand that you show him to me."

The dragon gulped audibly, "We can't do that. We haven't got him." Then realizing what he'd said, amended "What I mean is the moment he was taken he was sent on to Paris. He must already be there or near enough any way."

Colonel Zhao glared downwards, "So you expect us to take your word when you offer no proof of your claims?" she demanded, her icy tone needing no translation.

"No, we have proof," the little dragon put in. He then sat back and opened the satchel hooked to his chest harness. He pulled out a small oil cloth wrapped package, unfurling it to reveal a letter. Roland immediately stepped forward and took it, noting for Temeraire that it had Napoleon’s seal upon it.

The letter was simple enough; a declaration of Laurence’s capture and a demand for Temeraire’s immediate surrender. The whole of it signed by Napoleon himself.

Temeraire was frozen a moment, his claws braced hard against the frozen soil, even as a terrible noise clawed at his chest, bursting to come out.

But Colonel Zhao merely gave a derisive snort, "All you have shown us is a letter, which may be forged or presume eventual success while Lao-ren-tze yet evades you."

Temeraire's head jerked up at this, while the little dragon squeaked in protest. "No, no we have taken him captive, we..." But Colonel Zhao held up a paw forestalling him.

"We offer no terms without proof that Lao-ren-tze is indeed your prisoner and that his safety is assured." She made a dismissive gesture and the courier slumped back, wings half unfurling in defeat, seemingly ready to spring aloft once more.

Temeraire abruptly came back to himself, moving forward to stop the courier. But Zhao put out her forehand, stopping him. He looked at her, panic fueling his anger at what such a reply might mean for Laurence. But she said simply, "No Lung Tien Xiang, you must trust me on this." She withdrew her foreclaw. Temeraire hesitated a moment, but then made no further move towards the courier, who with a nervous glance, having no notion what passed between them, sprang aloft once more and made a direct line back the way he had come.

The moment he was gone Temeraire turned on Zhao, "Why did you stop me? What if they hurt Laurence because I said I would not cooperate?"

"That is not what you said. Recall I said we did not believe their claims. Killing your companion now would give them no advantage and would only remove any defense against you they might hope to gain in the future. Please accept my most humble apologies for interference and I will of course accept any punishment you deem necessary for my brazen behavior."

“What,” said Temeraire's, his anger deflating somewhat. “Oh, no, no that is not necessary,” It was true. By saying they didn't believe that Napoleon had Laurence they could not use Laurence against them. “You acted correctly and I suppose you have a good point," Temeraire admitted reluctantly. "But what if they bring Laurence back to their encampment?"

"That is a river whose course has yet to be made so we should not try to say where it will flow. Your companion has proven resourceful in the past. He may yet be able to free himself before we need worry about rescuing him." She turned her head to the west, “How far away is this city?"

Temeraire thought for a moment, "I believe it is about 4000 Li from here," he said.

She nodded, "That is all the better. They cannot bring him easily back, so I doubt they would want to try."

"But if it is so very difficult for them to send him hither and thither then the only reason they would send him so far away would be because of Lien. And she might hurt Laurence just to spite me."

"If Lung Tien Lien wishes to harm your companion then there is nothing to be done, for he is already within her talons." Temeraire put back his ruff at the cool logic in Colonel Zhao's voice, his talons digging into the cold ground beneath him. He would not let anyone hurt Laurence. He would fly to Paris himself and get him.

But...but Laurence would not like that. He would tell Temeraire that his duty was here. And Laurence could take care of himself. It was just that, oh, how he wished so very desperately to fly to him now, his wings trembling with the need. But instead he flattened them closer to his body.

Zhao continued, "However, if she wishes to hold him to use for barter then our best course is to remain here and secure the capture of _her_ companion."

"Oh!" Said Temeraire, ruff flaring out once more. "That is a very good notion. And if we take Napoleon here then the war will be over and there will be less people trying to always kill Laurence."

Zhao dipped her head, "We shall just have to pray that Lao-Ren-Tze's good fortune continues to serve him as well as it has so far."

"Good fortune?" Temeraire asked puzzled. He could hardly think that losing one's capital, and one’s home, and one's rank and even one's memory could be accorded as a sign of any deal of great good fortune.

Colonel Zhao Lien nodded, "I have heard tell tale of the great many forces that have tried to array themselves against the both of you. So far none of them have succeeded. I call that good fortune indeed."

 


	2. Chapter 2

For the third day Laurence found himself standing before Lien.

"So you did not wish to be a dragon's companion?" Lien asked, her eyes narrowed.

"It was not the profession I had thought myself suited to at time," Laurence responded, a little stiffly. He was not about to give Lien any sort of ammo to use against Temeraire. "I was offered the chance to return to my naval post a few weeks later and declined."

She was silent again her eyes taking on that now familiar half gaze that meant several more minutes of silence and most likely a different line of questioning.

At length the question came, “Why did you return to China?” and there was a keener interest in this question that she was unable to entirely suppress.

“We returned because we were invited by Prince Mianning to make a filial visit.” Laurence said, then stopped. He did not wish to give Lien any more information on this subject but at the same time felt it nearly his duty to inform her of the matters regarding her own family.

“But why were you invited?” she pressed

Laurence debated with himself a moment more before admitting, “As I said it was meant to be a filial visit, mainly for Temeraire’s sake. But I believe the offer came when it did because the conservative faction had begun to move against Prince Mianning.” His voice lowered, “I’m sorry to inform you but Lung Tien Chuan is dead.”

Lien froze, her whole body going still, pupils contracting sharply. Her honor guard exchanged nervous glances, obviously not understanding the significance but disquieted by Lien’s response.  For his part, Laurence was relieved by her reaction, feeling more justified in having told her. Whatever her treatment by other dragons in China he had noted the respect the other Celestials had for her rather than any fear. She had indeed felt some filial connection to them at least. Quietly she said, “Lung Tien Chuan - dead?”

Laurence nodded, “I’m sorry, but yes.”

“How?”

“He was murdered, someone poisoned his tea.”

She was quiet for a minute more, her gaze distant. Then with an effort she focused back upon them. “We are done for today, return him to his cell.” And then she turned and retreated into her pavilion.

 

Laurence lay awake that night, staring up at the ceiling of his cell, trying to piece together what he understood of Lung Tien Lien; a beneficial exercise that kept his mind off his real worry.

He made a noise of frustration, standing up to pace his cell. Lien’s reaction, the upset even she had been unable to hide over the loss of her cousin, had forcibly brought home to Laurence what Temeraire must at this very moment be going through.

The previous times Temeraire had thought Laurence dead, Laurence himself had been blissfully unaware; able to be the embodiment of comfort and joy upon their reunion without the slightest concern previously for Temeraire’s distress. He could not be so comfortable now. Did Temeraire even know that they had been captured? In a way Laurence hoped not. If Temeraire did not know for certain of his capture then his optimistic nature might well preserve him against the worst sort of strain.

But such a comforting thought was hard to maintain.  Bonaparte would hardly wish to keep such knowledge secret, even if he did not explicitly use it to bargain for Temeraire’s surrender. The news itself would still be a blow to their side, a strike to both morale and logistics, but as bad as all that would be it weighed little in his mind against the misery such news would cause Temeraire.

Chastising himself for vanity did little, for he could not accord it so. Rather it was more like plain fact, such a sureness of their mutual affection, which allowed them such freedom in so many respects, now seemed like a chain meant to drag them low.

He slumped back down on his bed, squeezing his hands in mute frustration. He must try to escape, to get back to Temeraire. It seemed less likely by the day that Lien intended his immediate end and when her attention shifted elsewhere he hoped he might find some opportunity for escape and if he was very lucky perhaps even ferret out Tenzing’s location as well. 

If he could not his best bet would be to make straight for the channel and try to find a smuggler there to get him across. But if he could, they might make straight for Russia. True the border was some 1400 miles from here but Tenzing had made such a journey before. It was his best hope in any case for getting to Temeraire and hopefully if he managed the miracle of all that Temeraire would still be there when he arrived.

 

And by the next evening it seemed that Lien might already be losing interest. Nobody had come for him that morning and he had not been given food nor water since the previous night. He wondered now if this was some new strategy of Lien’s or if he was simply being put on short commons. He supposed he would simply have to wait and see.

Later that night he had an answer, though he did not know what to make of it. Sometime after the midnight bell had been struck a guard, again from the Armée de l’Air, entered his cell, carrying the uniform of the British Aerial Corps, two gold bars placed carefully on top of the neatly folded bundle. Laurence stared, uncomprehending, before the guard grew impatient and pushed the bundle into his unresisting hands. He took it, cautiously, as though it might strike out at him and only belatedly realized the guard was speaking to him.

“What? I do apologize I didn’t quite catch that.”

The guard, an older gentleman of perhaps fifty or so, smiled slightly then said more slowly, “You are to change here and then you will be escorted to Madam Lien.” Then he gave Laurence a casual salute and left, closing the door behind him.

Laurence stood there for a moment, trying to puzzle out this new move, but he could not. Surely by giving him a uniform, even if it was not his own, Lien realized that by rights she was giving up her chance to kill him. When they had been captured in peasant garb, Lien could have executed them both as spies, rather than treat them as prisoners of war

But now she seemed to be going out of her way to acknowledge his status. What on earth could she mean by it? Why would she deliberately limit her own options? He stared down a moment more at the uniform, the bars briefly catching the flittering torch light from outside. A noise of impatience came from outside and Laurence looked up to see the same guard looking at him through the opening.

“Oh, yes, right,” he said and turned to begin stripping down, setting the uniform on his bed. He briefly scrubbed in the wash basin, luckily the guards had refilled this, as he had drunk down most of its contents in thirst, worried that he would be left here to rot.

The uniform mostly fit him, though a little long in the sleeves and as soon as he dressed the guards opened the cell door and beckoned him out. He complied, falling into step with one guard in the lead and the older bringing up the rear.

The corridor was dark, save for the guard’s torch and the hallway echoed hollowly with their footsteps. When they reached the outside, Sauvignon and Peter were there waiting for them. Laurence’s breath ghosted out in front of him, the first chill of winter strong in the night air. Nobody else was near, either the cold or dark having driven them to seek shelter indoors.

Peter greeted him as amiably as ever, reaching out his hand to shake Laurence’s, “Good evening Captain Laurence, I’m sorry that we could not have our usual lunch together but orders are orders.” He shrugged as though to dismiss it, but the news gave Laurence fresh alarm.

So food was deliberately being withheld from him. Was Lien hoping to starve information out of him? And now he thought on it perhaps this uniform was indeed insignificant. Who would know he had been provided one? Only these handpicked guards of Lien’s. Nobody else was about and keeping this secret was far easier to accomplish in the dark of night, which would explain the shift in their meeting as well.

Still his voice and grip were steady as he replied, “Thank you Captain Belan, perhaps we can resume them on the morrow.”

Peter smiled, but said nothing, merely beckoning him forward. Laurence easily mounted up on Sauvignon’s back and reached out a hand towards Peter. But Peter stepped back, shaking his head. Laurence stared at him, confused, then let his hand fall. Peter straightened in a salute and the two guards behind them followed suit. Laurence returned it.

“Fair wind Captain Laurence,” and there was such an odd note of finality in his voice that Laurence could merely nod, any reply lodging in his throat before Sauvignon sprang into the sky.

 

At first Laurence expected Sauvignon to make the usual quick hop over to Lien’s Pavilion. Instead, however, Sauvignon headed west, crossing over the Seine, and making straight for the outskirts of the city. For a moment Laurence’s heart leapt. Could they be helping him to escape? Is that why Peter chose to stay behind? But Sauvignon did not seem troubled in the least and she certainly would be if her Captain were facing death for treason. Indeed, when another dragon, a Papillion Noir passed by them, she gave not the smallest sign of alarm, instead calling out a friendly greeting. 

The Papillion angled his flight to fly next to them, eyeing Laurence curiously. “Why are you carrying a British soldier?” he asked.

“I am taking him to Madam Lien,” replied Sauvignon, the pleased note in her voice clear. And Laurence’s heart sank, it had been a ridiculous hope he supposed but that didn’t make its end any easier.

He was not kept long in suspense, the other dragon peeling away and within a few minutes an enormous, glittering palace came into view, the distinctive Grand Canal scattering moonlight behind it.

“Versailles,” Laurence breathed and was reminded at once that this was where the new empress lived, along with the heir. It made sense then that Lien, the director of his education, resided here and only conducted certain business at the Tuilleries. The courtyard glowed softly, two Pecheur-Couronne seated within the courtyard, turning their heads towards them. A Fleur de Nuit, that had been circling overhead, angled towards them, signals flashing from his crew.

“Lieutenant Sauvignon, on mission for Madam Lien,” She replied, surprising Laurence, even as he noticed the insignia sewn into her harness. A rank he was fairly sure had not been there before. Apparently Sauvignon had received a promotion thanks to his capture. The Fleur de Nuit circled them even as they continued forward, the dragon eyeing Laurence suspiciously, but he did not stop them and they soon heard the all clear from the Fleur’s captain.

They passed over the main château of the palace and out over the grounds, heading toward what looked to Laurence to be a clearing within the segmented forest that seemed to make up much of the gardens, an enormous roof rising from its center.

Even as they began to spiral down Laurence could see several heavy and middle weight dragons crowded into the clearing; two Flamme de Gloire and Fleur de Nuits. Several of the Incan dragons were also present, including Maila who sat next to Lien, and the empress herself stood between the two. Everyone present seemed to be decked out in their most formal attire, all of the dragons sporting some mark of rank with both Lien and one of the Flamme de Gloire wearing their Marshall epaulettes.

Laurence slowly dismounted from Sauvignon, the gravel crunching under his boot heels. He stared at the assembly for a moment noting quite a few Captains standing by with their dragons. Several dragons seemed to have no captains at all but everyone, dragon or man, seemed to be regarding him with their own unique mixture of curiosity and skepticism. Laurence had never felt like such an exhibition before in all his life.

The empress raised an imperious arm, her voice carrying across the too quiet clearing, “Captain Laurence, you may approach.” She declared, as though he’d been waiting for her permission the entire time. For a moment Laurence felt like digging his heels, but recognized it for the childish impulse that it was and marched forward.

Sauvignon did not follow him and he was pretty sure she was the lowest ranked creature here. He saw nothing below the rank of Captain on anyone else, even on the smaller dragons peering out from beneath the tree canopy.

As he approached he noted a small table set just off to the side with what looked to be a chalice placed upon its center. He stopped nearly twenty paces back from the triumvirate, giving them a formal leg. Maila’s head swung down, eyeing him far more carefully then he’d ever previously done, before he spoke to Lien. “I do not see what is so remarkable about this Captain Laurence.”

“That is why you are here. To witness, to know that what I speak of is the truth. Besides I have already permitted you to try with your own candidate. As I am sure you still remember.”

Maila looked away, discomfited, and it seemed to silence any further objections he might have had, though to what Laurence still hadn’t the foggiest idea. He was getting the very distinct impression that he wasn’t to be told either.

Lien turned to face him, those ruby eyes seeming to glow in the dim light of the torches. “Captain William Laurence you have been brought here to face trail. If you should fail you shall be returned to Britain, as long as you give your parole and agree not fight against our empire. If you should succeed you shall remain prisoner here.”

Laurence stared at her. He had never in his life heard such a bizarre bargain. This trial sounded to him to be some sort of test, so surely she must know he would deliberately try to fail it. So what on earth could she mean by it. His heart clenched at the thought of returning to Britain, whether in longing or dread he could not say. But then reason reasserted itself. Apart from any other concerns he was not the only prisoner they had taken and his parole would not merely bind him, but Temeraire as well. He could not do it.

“I cannot accept a chance which is not also offered to my comrade, nor can I act without regard to the impact such actions would have upon Temeraire.” It cost him dearly to say it. He had never been so close to native shores in more than five years, but it would be meaningless without Temeraire and disgraceful without Tenzing.

“Lung Tien Xiang would not be bound by your parole.” Lien replied, a statement that seemed to cause a ripple of surprise throughout the assembly, but she ignored them. “And if you do fail, both you and the man who was captured with you shall be returned to Britain.”

A shrill of excitement raced up Laurence’s spine, even at was tempered with doubts. His mind worked furiously. This trial must have some sort of risk to it, so that deliberate failure would be tricky, but even if that was the case it was still a chance to get at least Tharkay back to Britain should he die in the attempt. He tried not to think about Temeraire’s reaction should this indeed prove deadly even as he swore to do all in his power to get back to him. This might be his one chance.

“Very well I accept your terms.”

With a single foreclaw Lien directed him towards the table, though she looked no more pleased by his ascent then if he had rejected her terms. The Empress did not move, but her gaze followed him and so he was sure did everyone else’s. He kept his own straight ahead, retreating into his most formal manners in order to keep his mind clear. He stopped in front of the table and looked down – the chalice was empty. Frowning he looked up for direction and nearly started when Lien’s talons hovering above. He caught himself before he could betray any surprise and the claws approached no further.

Instead Lien used her reversed talon to pierce between her two foremost digits, over what looked to be an old scar. She held it out over the chalice as blood oozed forth, splashing up the sides and Laurence thought he heard a faint metal clink of something hard striking the bottom.  Once full, she pulled back her forehand still dripping blood and set it carefully back on the ground.

Laurence stared at the macabre image, near black blood still dripping down the sides, over the dragons inlaid along its sides, their jewel eye glittering out at him. Laurence’s stomach clenched at the sight, a sick thought occurring to him.

But surely that could not be the task.

But Lien confirmed it. “You are to drink all of this. If you are able to keep it down you shall have passed.”

Laurence looked up at her horrified, even as stomach twisted tighter. He might just be sick at the very notion and never mind having to actually drink the stuff. “You cannot be serious.” He protested.

She whipped her head down, her breath ghosting inches from his face. “I have never been more so.” She returned, her voice more intense then he’d ever heard it. “If you will not even try then you shall be returned to your cell and left to rot, along with your comrade.”

The mention of Tenzing brought him up short. He could not throw away this chance to see him at least free, no matter how abhorrent the prospect. He glanced to the side, towards the Empress and her expression was cold and calculating as when he’d seen her at the banguet to welcome Napoleon..

“Very well,” he replied shortly and Lien pulled back her head. Laurence stepped forward and took up the chalice, its contents steaming in the night air, the heat seeping through the metal.

He toasted her sardonically, “To your health,” and took the first swig.

It was like drinking the foulest tasting whiskey after a brawl, burning and metallic as it slid down his throat, his stomach roiling in mutany. He turned to side, gasping but it didn’t rebel. Instead his stomach slowly eased, unclenching even as his throat stung. He coughed a few times standing up straight once more. He looked down at the chalice; he had barely drunk a quarter of its contents.

“You must drink it entire.” Lien demanded and Laurence was surprised at the eagerness in her voice. He wondered vaguely if her blood was poisonous.

He took another swig to much the same effect, except it seemed to have gotten a bit darker. He looked around. Several of the dragons at the very back had broken rank filling out the space at the end of the path, an anticipatory hush all about the clearing. He took up the cup once more.

It took another four gulps to get it all down, though the smaller swigs were easier to take. When done he set the cup back down and stepped away, waiting.

But his stomach was calm, if a little over warm, the heat spreading from his belly and nothing else seemed to be out of the ordinary. Lien was still staring at him, her entire body rigid, hunched down, her tail curled tight around her body. She looked so very unlike herself. Even her eyes, still the disconcerting red, seemed more real, more of this earth.

Miala swung his head down to peer close at Laurence and he could hear whispers circling round behind him.

“Well,” Miala demanded, “Nothing is happening.”

Lien said nothing and Laurence felt his hopes rise. Whatever was supposed to happen clearly wasn’t so although he hadn’t been sick, maybe this could still be considered a failure. True he  was beginning to feel a bit overheated, but that couldn’t be anything. He wondered perhaps if there had been whiskey already in the cup, as his face flushed with the heat of strong spirits.

“If something is supposed...” he began, but had to cut off in order to cough, his throat beginning to itch. He coughed again, clearing his throat, but it only seemed to grow worse, spreading quickly now to his chest, then seemingly everywhere.

Laurence gasped, fists clenched, nearly cutting his own palms in order not to scratch, standing as still and rigid as ever he might. He wanted badly to peel his own skin off, just to be free of the tormenting sensation, as it marched in waves throughout his body. Suddenly all strength left his legs, folding beneath him so he sat abruptly on the ground.

Lien surged forward, her muzzle leaning down towards him and he felt the breeze as she tasted the air around him. He looked over at the empress. Her face was pale, eyes wide as she stared at him and he wondered vaguely that he must look a sight in that moment.

The itching subsided into slow burning, as though under the full blast of the Australian sun, his thoughts becoming muddy. He tried to lift an arm to rip away his necktie, to give some relief to the heat. But his arms would not respond, lying limp and useless in his lap. A soft coolness lay against his face, Lien’s muzzle; he realized and leaned against it, panting to breath. The heat grew worse; his skin burning with it, but all he could do was gasp, as it pulsed through him.

He could not die here; not kneeling before Temeraire’s worst enemy. But his limbs no longer worked and darkness crept slowly inwards. For a moment he was blind, the pain still there but distant, still able to feel the outside but trapped within himself. He heard the up swell of noise, the crowd gathering, moving, many voices speaking but unable to make sense of them. He hung there in that moment and then he knew no more.

~~~~~

 


End file.
